


bait and switch

by wolfspa



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: A bit of gore, Blood, M/M, Psychoteeth, Serial Killers, and things get really yuckie later when ryan starts to court geoff, whoops!!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 09:34:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2768267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfspa/pseuds/wolfspa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael and Ryan work together as a duo of serial killers (but don’t worry, they only kill the bad guys), while Geoff is just a normal guy who runs a hunting shop in the quiet part of Austin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bait and switch

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not sure what to say for myself honestly.  
> sorry i'm gross [shrugs]
> 
> EDIT: whoops this has multiple chapters, i'm just dumb and forgot to check that box argh

Michael has the tendency to whistle while he works, something that Ryan would probably find annoying if anyone else were doing it. Often times he whistles to a song that Ryan recognises and he finds himself resisting the urge to hum along. It's funny how in-tune with each other they've become— when Michael is upset, it affects Ryan's mood as well, and when one of them laughs or cries, the other one usually follows suit. They've been 'together' for so long that these things happen on a subconscious level. In a way, Ryan feels so safe knowing that he's with someone who feels exactly how he feels.

"Michael, be careful please." Ryan begs. "Don't go so fast, you always ruin the best parts."

Michael huffs as he puts down the machete that he calls a knife. "We're kind of under a time limit here, what parts do you want?"

Ryan looks over the body of the man they've just killed. Most of his blood had already drained and his skin had turned a pale white. Michael was working quickly to hack his feet and legs into smaller, more manageable pieces when Ryan stopped him. "I want his femurs." Ryan says simply after a moment of consideration.

Michael rolls his eyes and sighs. "Fine, you cut those out while I work on the rest of him." He says, moving to the man's torso. "Why do you want this crap anyways?"

"I dunno," Ryan shrugs, picking up his hatchet and taking a few well aimed swings at the hips, popping the bones free from their sockets. "I'll find something to do with them I guess. Maybe I'll make you some throwing knives." He says, making lighter, cleaner cuts at the knee and pulling the lower part of the leg away and onto the floor. He reaches into the bottom of the thigh, hand sloshing into blood and muscle and he grabs onto the large bone, pulling as hard as he possibly can to rip it from the flesh before repeating the process on the other leg.

The bones are covered in bits of tendon and torn muscle, but he doesn't have time to clean them now, so he tosses them into a duffel bag near his feet. "Okay, now you can go as fast as you like." Ryan nods, clearly happy with his decision.

"You sure you wouldn't like anything else?" Michael says, using a sarcastic tone but it's an honest question. Ryan seems to take a split second to ponder the offer, but he just shakes his head, and Michael nods happily, allowing them to continue the rest of their work in silence— apart from Michael's whistling.

> *** * * * ***

Ryan and Michael do everything together. They "work" together, they eat together, they live together, and although Michael is asexual, they even share a bed on occasion— Michael so graciously lets Ryan curl up behind him and drape his arm over the younger man's waist, breathing softly into his hair.

Naturally with the almost constant contact with each other, they both need time away. Michael gets that time in the form of working— a normal job like society would expect him to have.  He works at a decently sized insurance company, mostly managing employees and sitting behind a desk, but it's a wonderful contrast and as far as Ryan can tell, he enjoys it well enough.

Ryan on the other hand, spends his time hunting. It's probably strange that he uses all of his free time away from killing to do more killing, but it's not about the death when it comes to hunting, it's about creating something new and useful from that death. He can make something as simple as food from their meat, or he could make art with their bones and fur.

It's a nice way to make a little extra cash as well. He sells the meat he won't use to local butchers who want fresh game, and auctions off skulls or furs to collectors on Craigslist.

Alone, he would probably be homeless, but with Michael's help, they live a comfortable life. Comfortable enough that they can have a car for each of them and pay for a small house together— and of course, they have enough to continually fuel Ryan's hunting hobby.

In the last couple of weeks, he's had to find a new shop to buy from. His paranoia had gotten the best of him and he was convinced that the employees of the last place knew what _else_ he was doing with all of the bullets and ice he was buying, so after a bit of searching, he found a smaller, but still adequately stocked hunting shop in the outskirts of Austin. A quick survey of the outside and a little peek through the windows was enough to satisfy Ryan, and he steps inside, smiling to himself at the chime of the bell above the door.

The scent of wood and cheap plastics fill his nostrils as he takes in what the store has to offer. There's a fair selection of small firearms and two rifles on the far wall, safely enclosed in a glass case with several padlocks hanging from it. He can see shelves and shelves of accessories like gloves, safety glasses, hats, shirts, gun holsters, and carrying cases— along with bullets, arrows and fishing poles. The store is small, but much to Ryan's pleasure, it has everything he could ever need. There's even a water tank in the center of the store with small live bait like leeches and minnows. He leans over the side of the tank, sticking his hand into the water and smiling as the leeches swarm to his fingers.

"Can I help you with anything?" A voice suddenly asks, nearly making Ryan jump, pulling his hand from the tank and peeling leeches from his fingertips.

"No thank you, I'm.." Ryan says automatically, looking at the source of the voice. "I'm browsing."

"Sure, just shout if you want me." The man says, turning around and busying himself with straightening up some of the items on a nearby shelf. He must be somewhere near Ryan's age, with dark hair and a ridiculous curled moustache, his sleeves are rolled up and countless tattoos line his arms and even a couple poke out of the collar of the sweater he's wearing. His eyes are tired, but still a lovely shade of blue, and he bites his lip subconsciously as he needlessly rearranges the items in front of him. Ryan suddenly becomes aware of the fact that he's been staring for quite some time, and quickly goes back to looking into the tank. He braces himself with both hands on the edge of the glass and catches a reflection of his own face in the rippling water. He scoffs at himself before moving to the other side of the store, far away from the employee.

He sweeps his fingers across the fabric of some stupid novelty t-shirts hanging on racks as he walks towards the wall with all of the game calls and considers the human on the other side of the store while he stares at them. Ryan had felt bad for staring, but he’s never seen someone with so many tattoos before. He wonders how many more are hidden under his clothes, and he thinks about how much blood was probably spilled in their creation. His curiosity is piqued at the thought of how many scars the other man may have, and where they came from.

Ryan runs his hands across some of the calls hanging on the wall. He considers buying one just because they look pretty, but he doesn’t really have a need for new ones, so he tears himself away and walks to the freezer nearby, pulling out two bags of ice and making his way to the counter. He heaves them onto the counter and fishes his wallet out of his back pocket as the employee walks up to the back side of the counter.

“That it?” He asks, and Ryan looks up to read the name on the man’s name tag. _Geoff._ Somehow that seemed to fit him all too well. He just nods in response, handing five dollars over while Geoff punches away at the cash register. In a furious attempt to avoid all eye contact, Ryan looks down through the glass of the counter, eyeing the heaping selection of knives inside. There are smaller knives for gutting fish, long, sharp ones for scrubbing scales, and huge hunting knives for slicing open deer or coyotes.

“Like something you see?” Geoff asks, holding out Ryan’s change and effectively knocking him out of his trance.

“No,” Ryan says quickly, and he watches Geoff frown. “I mean yes.” He corrects himself. “But I don’t need anything like this.. Just admiring.” And thankfully, Geoff’s face softens. Ryan takes his money and stands there for a moment before realising that he should walk away. He grabs both bags of ice in one hand and turns to head for the door before something in his brain tells him to stop, and before he can even figure out why, he starts spitting out words.

“The old hunting shop I used to go to..” His brain locks up for a second once he realises that he can’t tell the truth. “It.. whatever, but I needed a new place to go.” Geoff looks confused, but he’s smiling softly, his eyes warm. “This is a nice place.” Ryan concludes.

“Well, I’m glad you find it suitable.” Geoff says with a little laugh, and with that, Ryan practically runs out of the shop, desperately hoping that the next time he has to go inside, Geoff isn’t there.

Not that he doesn’t find Geoff satisfactory— in fact, it’s almost the opposite, but Ryan curses his incredible talent of being able to make any normal situation unbearable with his inability to interact with the rest of society. Something about Geoff, however, was cozy and appealing, which is a nice contrast from a majority of the people Ryan seems to come in contact with. He throws the bags of ice into the passenger seat of his truck and prepares to drive home, forcing the thought of Geoff from his mind.

When he arrives home, Michael is in the kitchen, rooting around in the freezer. “What is all of this shit?” The younger man asks, pulling out a bag of _something_ and holding it up. “You better not go Hannibal on me and start eating these things you take.” His eyes are so harsh compared to Geoff’s.

“First of all, no.” Ryan defends. “Secondly, that is venison.” He walks up to Michael, taking the bag from his hand and chucking it back into the freezer.

“Alright, good.” Michael says, shutting the door. “Now come help me downstairs.” And Ryan rolls his eyes but follows Michael down.


End file.
